The enemy seems to have developed into a civilization; ruling this world like some king of old. The rare reports I have been getting speak of cities and structures that defy reason. If I fight with honor I will lose. I know this. It must be quick. It must be brutal; I cannot win a prolonged war.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------

  Year five

  We are flying eastward from the Academy. In general, I think the Wastes live up to their name—few days outside the canyon limits and I'm worldly as fuck. Our city, much of the canyon even, and the high purple pasturends outlining it all, are more lush than most of the nds I have seen so far; far below. I don't know...trees, although sometimes taller than the tallest of buildings, were often farther apart, pins often seemed patchy, and, I don't know...it's just not very dense, I guess. Well...up until now.

  Days ago, the ventifact-dotted scenery we saw in the early stages of our journey was followed by a custrine one, where thousands of kes looked like giant mirrors. Soon afterwhich we spent two nights at an outpost—ringed by a high-walled stockade and well-manned by Lodestar soldiers—for us and the beasties to rest, and for our expedition to restock on some water and food—our saddlebags now fat with hard cheese and salted meat—and for our scouts to meet us, debriefing about their work.

  Hours ago, the vista was that of purple and dark-red moornds, with their rare gullies and ravines.

  Now, rolling hills and rocky narrow ridges cut through the ndscape, separating valleys whose gorgeous gowns are made of neverending rows and patches of purple and red and bck wildflowers. The colors often seem somehow new to my eyes, the shades different from anything back in our canyon home.

  My winged mount has a nice comfy saddle that secures me with thick belts made of full-grain leather. Wrapped around my waist, the leather belt embraces multiple straps that join the saddle. Of course, this reduces the risk of me seriously testing how strong my bones really are. Falling from this height? I'd be just a small red sptter lost in the ndscape, of that I have no doubt.

  The front part of the saddle also has a horn and two handgrips at the sides. Couple that with all the straps, and there is an option for doing some fancy aerial maneuvers. I'm not testing that either.

  My mount is a giant hare with rge, white, dove-like wings and a long fluffy tail. His name is Thumper. I'm loving the name!

  The hare itself is pure white like the clouds of a rainless day.

  The Breaker who creates a familiar has mind power over their creation. Nevertheless, a winged or ground crystalborn mount can be trained—with the supervision of the Breaker that made it—so that it can be used by other people; the familiar obeying some simple commands—you pull on the reins once to stop, hold the reins taut to descend, pull left to go left, patting with both heels makes you move forward, and so on. These are taught over a short period with familiar trainers together with the creator of the crystalborn. A familiar can even be imprinted by its creator to execute a task repeatedly or to listen to another human loyally.

  I look down and my heart quickens.

  Over the st few years, my eyesight has become better and better, and my headaches more scarce and less intense. From this height, almost halfway to the clouds themselves, I'm sometimes able to spot rat-sized wildlife. Can't discern any insects, though. Should practice more.

  The ground overall was surprisingly sort of even. I have expected to see an Alldora of indentations pockmarking the ndscape, you know, from rock rain hammering...well...everything.

  I lift my chin against the wind, the corners of my lips tugging upward. Is this how eagles feel? This air is wonderful. There is a bit less of it than on ground level, though.

  The feeling of the pale sun will always be welcome to my skin. Even more than Sol, the sun always gives a nice invigorating feeling, warm beneath my skin, warm all through me.

  Like the rest of the soaring aloft students, I wear knee-high, reddish-brown, leather boots and tight-fitting breeches paired with, of course, long-sleeved shirt of good stock wool(my pointy triquetra pendant underneath), and a long, dark-red, linen coat embzoned with phoenix insignia at its sides. Five exquisitely-embroidered fiery feathers around each phoenix insignia denote my academy year. The special issue coats are supposed to help with camoufge, but I just think it's a welcome change from those boring dark-green ones we always wear. And although my thighs would disagree, my current garments are more comfy than gymnasium tunic and the accompanying cord belt that often cuts into my bowels.

  Five Bck Breakers are assigned to protect us, with no less than seven winged warbeasts, scattered all about—many of them having talons and fangs and all. It is rare for a Bck Breaker to have all three of their familiars be the Winged type.

  Fifth-year students cutting through the air with me are Katerina Marius, the always-ughing one; Janna Erdene, the quiet one; and Melina Maximus, the leader of the group.

  And Hebe Idunn, the my-best-friend one.

  The five of us are flying in a tight formation on docile-looking, Grey Breaker-made, avian crystalborn—the grandmaster of the wild, Glindor Cheshire, leading the formation, riding a beautiful, winged horse. Its wings ink-bck like the rest of it.

  Four of the warbeasts guarding us are widely spread further to the front and the remaining three are further behind, all three with bck-clothed riders on. In addition, there are nine small but fast-flying familiars mounted by spear-armed Academy soldiers that serve as scouts. They disappeared from the horizon some while back, but since they approximately know our speed and destination they can locate us easily. Some of them probably already nded, waiting for us.

  The Wastes, the nds forming Eastern Equiya—the term often favored by the cartography and bearing grandmaster—are huge. The chances of some random Wraith crossing our path are almost nothing. I guess the keyword here is almost. I've tried expining that to Father, the st time I saw him, but he just kept cursing the Academy and cursing the Chairwoman's leadership. Mom was silent, too silent. She didn't mention it, but she knows. I saw it in her eyes, I saw it in the way she looked at me, she knows about my...flogging; and from his voice and his moderate-level of curses, I knew Father doesn't. She didn't speak of it to Father—something for which I'm grateful to her very much. Ah yes, Ley, my parents' sausage-dog, is now mostly inside their home. Looking chunky as if...as if, well, as if I was feeding her, visiting each and every day. Allmother, I wish that were true.

  I did not envy the Academy quartermaster's job. He handled all the supplies for this expedition. Tent gear, dried meats, as well as other tasty goodies, wound dressings, barrels of salt and of ale, spare clothing, some stationery items, some Cobalts for illumination, various potions(that can make your mind sharper or blissfully dull), linseed oil, additional arrows and spears, a lot of fat ropes, and suchlike.

  That logistical stuff is already at our destination. Flown there in advance by over three dozen transport familiars.

  Speaking of which, our destination is in sight: an ancient forest.

  Skywald.

  Ahead of us, the spectacur image takes my breath away. Redwoods are looming in their thousands—their special stony bark is still many weeks from starting to develop.

  We nd within a gde, setting up camp.

  ''Reeeeeeeee!''

  Not long after I left him to make my tent, Thumper screams for me. I move toward him and the cluster of other crystalborn mounts nearby, petting his side and calming him when I arrive. ''Calm now. Calm.''

  ''He really likes you,'' Hebe says after arriving to stand next to me.

  ''Yeah...'' I say affirmingly. ''Sometimes he does that.''

  ''Get back to work,'' one of the Academy's guards barks in our direction.

  Hebe snickers and turns away.

  Before long we're back at helping with making our new gde settlement.

  As I'm finishing pitching my tent, Katerina, Janna, and Melina begin giggling about something, diverting their gaze away from me the moment I look at them. What's that about?

  Ah!

  A high-pitched sound nces my ears, Grandmaster Cheshire whistling. ''Fifth-years!'' He waves for us to join him, and then as we do so beckons us to sit around the empty fire pit smack in the center of the camp.

  Following the burial of my ears, he puts a bit of tinder near a small notch of a ft piece of dry wood in front of him and a spindle stick thing on top—all the while speaking of patience, how to do it properly, and rubbing his hands to rotate the spindle. From time to time, he spits on his palms, continuing to spin the spindle. It takes a thousand years, but a small bit of smoke appears as ember forms, which he then carefully puts on a tinder bundle. He blows at the bottom, giving more life to the fire.

  Grandmaster Cheshire nestles the fme onto the ground, looking at his five students. ''Put only the smallest of pieces gently on top. Good. Now we will just slowly keep adding the bigger sticks, and that is that.

  ''Now, when on Harvesting, or hunting near an outpost, if it happens that you get separated from your group and lost, do not panic. You will not be abandoned. Most important thing is that you do not start randomly flying all over the pce on your Winged. Do so, and you will never be found.

  ''You will make smoke. A lot of it. Burn sage, mugwort, dry leaves and grass, thyme, whatever will give you smoke, a lot of it.

  ''I will not do so now, the bugs might leave us alone, but then so would this fine air.'' He spreads his arms at the camp.

  Creepy-crawlies never bothered me. I don't even remember when was the st time I got bitten or stung.

  Next, the grandmaster rummages through his sack. ''Where did I leave the damn thing?'' He stands up and makes a tsk sound. ''Stay nearby, I'll join you shortly.'' He then moves toward our camp's storage area.

  ''Ann, we need...to talk about something.'' Hebe nods to the side, slowly leading me a bit away from the camp.

  Yellow gem among a pile of coal, Hebe's hair often made her stand out from the usually dark-haired crowd. At eighteen, her womanly features, now evident, were never missed by any of the boys and men alike. Framed by long thin eyebrows, her almond, always-seem-to-be-smiling, dark-green eyes contrasted her pale skin quite pleasingly. Her straight nose and bottom-heavy lips both looked as though crafted by some master sculptor, further adding to her seraphic face. More than once have I overheard boy students from our css prociming her to be the most...beautiful of all our cssmates. The actual crude expressions they've often used to express this sentiment were anything but beautiful and often made me blush.

  ''Yes?'' I ask after we moved an outside-of-earshot distance from the camp.

  ''This is not easy to say.'' Her body nguage is strange and she has difficulty holding my gaze.

  ''Hebe you know you can tell me anything,'' I assure, the tiny smile I give her: real.

  ''I know, I know.'' She pauses as if to gather her courage. ''Ann...at night, you can be...loud.''

  ''Are you saying I snore?'' This is a little embarrassing, yes, but Hebe's reaction is a bit much.

  ''No, you don't. It's just that...'' She makes another long pause.

  She is annoyingly hesitant. I've lost patience. ''Just say it how you mean it, Hebe. What?''

  She lowers her voice even further, ''At night, back in the dorm you gasp and moan...sometimes very loudly.'' She raises her tawny eyebrows for a moment.

  It takes me a quick heartbeat or two before I fully understand. No...I was...no. Allmother, I wish for the ground to swallow me at right this moment. Fuck!Shit!Fuck!

  For some time I don't know what to say to her. I clear my throat and try not to scream from embarrassment. ''Thank you for telling me.'' I turn to leave.

  She moves her arm toward me. ''Ann, wait. It's really nothing. Most girls do it too; although...more quietly.''

  ''I know. I just wish to be alone now.'' And find a cliff to jump off.

  My precious moments of solitude are eviscerated by a loud noise that cuts my ears, the grandmaster's whistling grabbing my attention.

  He waves for the students to join him—not that far from the fresh fire he made.

  As we stand clustered around him, gigantic trees walling us all from the world, Cheshire expins the sunstone, how to use it.

  The grandmaster of the wild is young, especially when compared to most of the other grandmasters. His hair is long and shaggy with wispy bangs falling over his brown eyes. In a gymnasium a few days ago, he taught all fifth-years some bow. Said I should focus on spear. I'm decently proficient with bow...

  ''Find the sun, Mistress Bolormaa.'' He hands me the sunstone.

  The special transparent crystal is devoid of any light within it. It looks like a snted brick with charcoal mark on top. I point the thing at the brightest part of the horizon.

  Looking up through the bottom, I see two dots. I then move the navigational tool along the horizon until the two dots appear equal in brightness, making the front of the crystal point toward the hidden sun.

  The grandmaster nods. ''Good, Mistress Bolormaa. Pass it along to your cssmates.''

  ''She's really good at that,'' Janna says, and Kat and Mel ugh.

  Long before the dropped sunstone even touches the ground, and before I can stop myself, my fist hammers once into the corner of her mouth. She falls to the ground like a felled tree.

  NO!

  Janna screams and wails, spitting blood and bits of teeth, clutching her face. ''She broke my theeth! She broke my theeth!''

  Her two friends first stand like statues and then crouch and huddle around her.

  The grandmaster yanks me away to the side. ''Leave for your tent and stay there,'' his voice a command.

  Without saying a word, I comply, the previous red haze clearing from my mind.

  He then goes to Janna. Soon he and a guard begin helping her to her tent. I can't help myself and keep throwing my eyes behind every few steps. Hands shake, can't breathe. I could've killed her...

  Hebe joins me, following me to my tent. ''It's her fault,'' she whispers. ''She's often quiet, but knows heavy words.''

  ''I...punched her too hard,'' I say, my voice weak, falling apart. ''I could've killed her, Hebe.''

  There is no fear in Hebe's eyes, only understanding, only compassion. Shouldn't she be afraid of me? They should all be afraid of me. I'm sick! ''She's not made of parchment, Ann. Grandmaster Cheshire will fix her.'' She is silent for a moment. ''And if you did nothing she or other girls would keep making such comments.''

  ''They will always make such comments.'' I stop walking, my body shaking, and then I hug her tightly, tears rolling down my cheeks. ''What is wrong with me? I'm sick. I'm evil. I could've killed her.''

  She holds me tight, her chin on my shoulder. ''Ann, what are you saying? Doesn't matter,''—she shakes her head—''I've known you for years. You're good, Ann. You're good. You're the best.''

  Two hours ter, having abandoned the gde, our group moves through Skywald itself, redwoods looming wherever I look.

  A few voices wanted to send me home, but the grandmaster argued we all stick together. Almost all my rations were given to Janna, which is no punishment at all, but I obviously couldn't say that no matter how much I wanted. I could've killed her.

  A big area around the corner of her lips is so purple...She got some potions for the pain and swelling. They've helped, and she even smiled a few times since taking them.

  Walking slowly through the forest, our formation is elongated, Janna and her two friends are ahead, avoiding me, keeping their distance.

  The grandmaster stops, beckoning us to the side. He really likes to talk with his hands. Our group of five students, as well as a few mostly female soldiers shadowing us, stops for a moment, soon following the young and unkempt form of Grandmaster Cheshire to a charming brook.

  Shit. I'm slightly startled by a purple frog the size of my head that just stares at me while I refill my only-partly-empty waterskin.

  I focus my hearing about me. I can hear the birds, I can hear the insects—scores of species. They sing quietly. Chirping, trilling, and warbling; squeaking, buzzing, and whirring. We are in a primeval city of feral chattings and gargantuan wooden buildings.

  Upon the trunks of many redwoods, my eyes see the smooth, rva-made holes—frass around them.

  Some of the unfortunate trees have hundreds of these holes.

  I did a bit of reading before coming here. Supposedly, insect rvae are very nutritious, but I really, really hope the grandmaster won't go that far with our teachings. Gorging on stonewood for weeks can hardly make you delicious. And on the nature book's illustrations they looked so ugh.

  Cheshire makes a clicking sound, pushes his open hand in a forward gesture, continuing our death-quiet forest trek.

  Despite the day still being youngish, the world around us has a twilight glow. Far, far above, the forest canopy is purple, the clouds a recent dream.

  I inhale the crisp air slowly, the forest's aroma wonderful. The scents are of wet earth, fresh rain, and of sweet resin—all the scents honeyed with hidden wildflowers.

  We pass mud smears that stain the bottom of a nearby redwood.

  Grandmaster stops. Points down. His voice a faint wind. ''Big hoof prints, long stride. A while ago we passed trunks with savage gouges near the ground. The forest speaks a volume, listen with your eyes. What do you hear?'' he asks the five students.

  Melina crouches down. ''The animal was running, the tracks are fresh.''

  I move my fingers through bdes of tall, purple grass, firm and flexible. Ow! You little shit. A dark-purple praying mantis struck my finger for no reason.

  The grandmaster nods, seemingly content with her answer. Then he leads us onward again.

  Rubbing my finger, I lift my chin and focus my hearing upward. The ground level is silent, for the winds seem to like dwelling within the canopy kingdom best. All these rustling whispers are unlike anything I've heard back home—the winds' mumblings are calming and a tinge unnerving at the same time.

  In the distance, I hear one feather-shaped leaf falling. Its flight a distant sigh, its gentle nding a whisper only I can hear.

  Spring or no spring, my eyes see the fallen bck-purple and reddish-brown leaves. They are sort of feather-shaped; lost among the violet ferns that often carpet the forest.

  I drown my fingers in this velvety sea, my sweeping touch disturbing the violet fronds. Almost like touching mist.

  Startled, we hasten toward a screeching, distant sound that makes my bones weep.

  Ahead, the grandmaster of the wild waves his hand slowly, up and down. ''Slow your haste. Patient hunter doesn't starve. Watch your step.''

  Eventually our group breaks into a clearing up ahead, and the scene quickens my heart, my breath.

  Fuck me. A dire boar.

  Its crimson eyes: dread-inducing, its white-gray fur: magnificent, its tusks: death.

  The boar's screams infect the forest, bouncing off tree trunks whose width is often greater than the entire width of my parents' house.

  The dreadful screeching subsides as I reduce my hearing.

  The wild animal is formidable.

  More than a dozen five-foot-long arrows are lodged deep inside the screeching dire boar's flesh, the animal's formerly white sides now stained with dark red. The boar's stridulous screams are cws that rend my ears. They are without pause.

  My heart aches.

  The white boar with crimson eyes, the beast that we hunted is now trapped, held by fat ropes attached to five powerful warbeast Winged—their cws tearing the earth, wings furled, muscles tensed. All five crystalborn have Bck Breakers for riders and no reins but the will of their nanilu-cd masters.

  The everpresent red-cloaked Academy soldiers armed with spears significantly taller than them are nearby. I might not see their helmet-covered faces but they are tense. The way they hold their spears, the way their shoulders are set, the way they breathe; their unease is palpable.

  Janna Erdene is chosen to slit the boar's throat.

  The weapon given to her is a rge knife of cold steel, single-edged, curved, the bde's cruel face wider at the top half. My eyes see the recent-sharpening scratches along the bde's edge. The bde is sharp indeed, can make it quick, end the beast's suffering, but Janna's eyes and body are dread-chained.

  Her hand is shaking, she won't make it quick.

  ''I can'th. I can'th. I can'th,'' Janna pleads.

  ''Stop embarrassing yourself, girl!'' one of the guards yells at Janna. ''The grandmaster does you a great honor. Be done with it!''

  Honor... All I see is an animal in agony and a friend scared, a cssmate whom I bruised—maimed—so heavily.

  ''It would show no mercy to you or your cssmates. Do what has to be done,'' the young grandmaster pressures, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  ''Just do it, Jay!'' one of her close friends, Melina, standing well behind, yells at Janna.

  Janna's watery eyes turn toward Melina. ''I don't wanth to. Please...'' A defeated look overtakes her face. She sniffles once and looks back at the screeching boar.

  Janna's trembling hand rises, about to try and slit the restrained animal's throat.

  Barely does a blink pass when I move in, taking the big knife from her.

  I grab one of its tusks with my left hand, wrenching the boar's head a bit upward and to the side, exposing its rge throat more, and I ssh—my hand strong, my slit true. Rich arterial blood erupts all over my face and chest.

  Moments ter, the smell of shit spreads everywhere and it takes all I am not to dry-heave.

  The screaming is no more.

  I spit blood to the side and then look at the grandmaster. ''Before Academy I've helped Mom with sughtering chickens in our courtyard.'' I look Janna in the eye, all the color from most of her face long gone. ''I'm used to blood.'' This felt different, though. Much more blood. So much more...

  I look at the great beast.

  We will use everything. The boar's hide for leathers; the meat will be dried, smoked, and cured; tusks will become handles for knives and awls or shaped into daggers and spear tips; bones will become strigils and cutters and needles and hairpins. Everything except the blood that drenches the soil. The blood is lost.